


In the Eye of the Hurricane (there is quiet)

by KareliaSweet



Series: Storms [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Typical Violence, M/M, Monster Hunters, Monsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-19 23:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9466040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/pseuds/KareliaSweet
Summary: “Never have a daughter, Will Graham. It will bring you only pain and sorrow.”orThe Sad Tale of the Stag, the Wolf and their Daughter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is *probably* the last installment in this universe. My mind wouldn't rest until I explored how exactly Hannibal and Will were separated before the events of WATSIWP. But man this hurt to write... sorry.

The boy is eleven when Bedelia sits him down at the kitchen table and throws down a fresh rabbit carcass between them. She slices it open with an ivory blade and carefully removes the liver. The boy looks up at her with eyes that hold more curiosity than fear.

“What are you doing?”

Bedelia ignores him and says a quick blessing over what’s left of the animal.

“No sheep to spare,” Bedelia says in lieu of a reply, “this’ll have to do.”

She turns the liver carefully over in her hands, muttering under her breath. The boy stares. Bedelia sets the organ down on the table and holds an open palm over it, then closes her eyes.

“This I know,” she murmurs. Her forehead creases minutely and she snorts. “This, I could have guessed.” She nods a few more times in mute assention, her red hand twitching.

Then she stops. Her eyes snap open to reveal milky-white irises. She points at the boy.

“Never have a daughter.”

The boy frowns and makes a face.

“I don’t want a daughter.”

Bedelia reaches across the table and grabs the boy’s arm with her bloody hand, fingers pinching into the bones of his wrist.

“ _Never have a daughter, Will Graham. It will bring you only pain and sorrow_.”

Will is shaking under her fingers, a trembling that’s something greater than fear.

“I – I won’t have a daughter,” he stammers.

“Swear on it,” Bedelia hisses.

“I swear! I won’t have a daughter!”

She pulls his hand closer, traces her fingers up the lines of his palm. She peers at his skin with her strange, unseeing eyes. Then she releases him as her head suddenly droops and her eyes close. Will sits before her, frozen still and breathing in sharp gulps.

“Madame?” Will asks tentatively.

Bedelia raises her head, her eyes clear and blue again.

“Keep your promise, Will,” she says sternly, “Death will come for you if you do not.”

“I will keep it,” he says, with the fervency of a child who thinks promises cannot be broken.

Bedelia already knows it is too late. Some fates have already been decided, and no amount of magic will undo them.

But she cannot say she didn’t try.

-x-

For years, Will believes that Georgia is the daughter of sorrow. He still dreams of her frightened half-dead eyes, of the sick smell of charred flesh. He thinks nothing can hurt more than the knowledge that he did too little to save her, that her blood is still on his hands even when someone else’s is. On nights when Hannibal is away, the scent of smoke and burnt hair fills his nostrils and he clambers out of bed to retch violently.

Even as a monster, even with years behind him to dull the pain, Will thinks nothing can hurt more than the memory of his failure.

Until Hannibal brings Abigail home.

The girl is small for her age, with large, round eyes. She wears her brown hair in two plaits that trail down her back. She looks at Will with wisdom beyond her years.

“You killed my Papa,” she says. It is a fact, not an accusation.

He remembers the girl. Her father was the first wolf he killed, only his second monster at that. She had been even smaller then, no more than three or four years old. She is still only a child. Will says as much.

“You’re just a child. How did you travel this far East alone?”

“I’m thirteen,” she says with a pout that proves it.

Hannibal smiles and puts his hands on her shoulders.

“Show him, Abigail.”

Abigail preens a little under Hannibal’s touch. She crouches to the floor and as she does, her body ripples and transforms into that of a small fawn. The fawn blinks at Will with round, limpid eyes, utterly guileless. Will is at once captivated and seized with dread.

“Very good,” Hannibal says, and gently rubs one of her ears. The fawn closes its eyes.

Will’s skin suddenly feels too tight.

“What is she?”

Hannibal’s eyes glitter with excitement.

“Her mother was a maenad. Her father a lycanthrope, as you know. This makes her… something entirely new.” He releases Abigail’s – the fawn’s – ear gently. In one swift, liquid motion, she rears up and transforms back to her human form.

Will finds himself horribly speechless. Hannibal slinks a protective arm around Abigail’s shoulders. She tilts her head and regards Will evenly.

“You killed my Papa,” she says again.

Hannibal gives her a gentle squeeze.

“We are your Papas now.”

This shakes Will from his stupor, and the first threads of anger begin to lace across his veins.

“No,” he says firmly.

Hannibal looks up at him in shock, which quickly turns to indignation. Abigail does not react at all.

“ _No_?”

“No,” Will says again, “you can’t just… bring a child into this house and say she’s ours. You don’t get to decide that for me.”

Hannibal’s eyes flash scarlet. “Abigail, dear, run upstairs, won’t you?”

She obeys silently. Neither of them watch her go. As soon as the footsteps have faded, Hannibal walks into the study. Will follows. Hannibal pours them each a drink then reclines elegantly into his armchair. He sips at his wine.

“Would you care to tell me where this petulance is coming from?”

Will downs his whiskey in one gulp, wiping crudely at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I don’t want a daughter,” he says.  
Hannibal lifts one eyebrow and does not move. “That is a lie.”

Will collapses into the chair opposite his beloved. He should know better than to lie.

“It is. Of course I want – but I can’t have one.”

“Why?”

Will scrubs at the thicket of beard on his face. The scar on his cheek still itches badly underneath it. He feels the phantom press of a thumb.

“I made a promise once.”

“To whom?”

“A… friend.”

“And am I not more than a friend?”

“She was an Augur.”

Hannibal snorts derisively. “Prophecies. Portents. Nonsense, all of it.”

“But— “

Hannibal sinks forward into his knees and crawls toward Will, who opens his thighs without thinking. Hannibal nestles snugly between his legs.

“My love,” Hannibal purrs. His hands slide hot up the inseam of Will’s trousers. “You want this, don’t you?”

Tears prick at Will’s eyes and he blinks them stubbornly away.

“I--”

One hand travels upward to gently cup Will’s chin. “Think on it,” Hannibal says with impossible gentleness. “Let her stay with us a week. She is a delightful child. And we can make her into so much more, if you allow it.”

Will’s bottom lips quivers and he feels terribly small. He hates how badly he wants this, how deeply it frightens him. How human it all makes him feel.

“Kiss me,” Will says.

“Always.”

Hannibal’s mouth meets his tenderly, slotting their lips together and sliding his tongue neatly against Will’s. Before he can take a breath, his hands are on Hannibal’s shoulders, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Hannibal cups the back of his head and makes a gentle sound that vibrates between them.

“Trust me,” Hannibal whispers as he pulls away. His words dance tantalizingly as he licks the shell of Will’s ear, bites the soft spot under Will’s jaw that makes him whimper.

“I do,” Will breathes. He wraps his arms and legs around Hannibal’s body and holds him as close as he can without splitting him open.

Abigail stays for a week. Will teaches her how to fish.

Abigail stays for two weeks. Will shows her how to make her own lures and she smiles shyly at him when she presents her first one, made of raven feathers and bone.

Abigail stays for a month. They take her on her first hunt. She grins up at them from her kill with blood between her teeth.

Abigail stays for three months. She learns to knit and sew. She makes Will a scarf, makes Hannibal a handkerchief with his initials on it. They kiss her forehead in thanks. She makes pillows for all three of them, soft and plush things that she stuffs herself.

Abigail stays for six months. They take her on more hunts. Hannibal teaches her how to cook with him. She has a natural talent for it. Will borrows her needle and thread sews her a clumsily but lovingly made apron. She takes it with a sweet smile and brushes her lips over his scarred cheek. The next time he sees her wear it, she has sewn a design onto the front: a fawn with sharp fangs and a mane of dark feathers.

Abigail stays for a year. She calls them _Papa Stag_ and _Papa Wolf_. They are happy.

Abigail stays for three years.

“Our life is good, isn’t it?” Hannibal murmurs into his skin one evening.

Will kisses every part of Hannibal he can reach, slips an arm around his shoulders and paints his smile into Hannibal’s neck.

“Yes,” Will tells him, “everything is perfect."

And it is.

Then Mason comes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mason Verger gives a bad name to monster hunters.

His methods are barbaric and cruel, but there are people just as cruel who love him for it. For every Hybrid that Will refuses to kill, Mason is on his heels with steel traps and torture in his eyes.

It takes him so very long to kill.

When word comes that Mason has been called to the neighbouring town, Will insists that they run.

“Don’t be foolish,” Hannibal says, “we’re more than capable of handling him between the three of us.”

“Please,” Will begs, “for me. For our daughter.”

Hannibal stands firm. “I do not run from anyone, least of all vermin like Mason Verger.”

Word of celebration comes shortly thereafter. Verger has slain the Unholy Beast of Firenze, and strewn up its parts for the village to gawk at.

(It wasn’t a Beast, Will thinks, it was a frightened centaur who had accidentally kicked a drunk in the head. The drunk had deserved his ignominious end. The centaur had not.)

Will pleads with Hannibal a second time.

“He has blood in his mouth now,” Will says desperately, “he will come for us.”

Abigail watches them from the doorway. They do not see her.

Hannibal seizes Will’s shoulders, his countenance fierce. “Then we will come for him first.”

Will tears Hannibal’s hands away in answer. “No,” he insists, “I won’t put Abigail in danger.”

Abigail slips back into the shadows. They do not see her.

“Abigail can handle herself, my love. We have taught her well.”

“You don’t understand!” Will yells.

“Of course I understand!” Hannibal fires back. “You still believe in fortune tellers and superstitions!”

He seizes Will’s face between his hands and presses their foreheads together, hard enough to hurt.

“I believe in _our family_ , Will.”

The front door closes quietly. They do not hear it.

There is no resolution to their fight. They retire to bed with unsaid things sparking between them. Hannibal reaches for him in the night and Will turns away.

(In the solitary years to come, Will spends many nights with his face wet with tears, wishing he had let Hannibal hold him then.)

They realize Abigail is gone the next morning. By then it is too late.

The fawn is displayed in the same place as the centaur, albeit in one piece. Its throat, at least, was cut. Small mercies.

Mason crows over his quarry with glee. His sister stands silently beside him.

“The Wicked Deer Woman!” Mason shrieks. “Known to seduce unsuspecting men and lure them to their deaths! Another Beast is vanquished!”

The crowd cheers. Mason cackles. It sounds like the rattle of bones.

Will and Hannibal stay to the outskirts of the crowd. Will falls to his knees and weeps.

"We must retrieve her body,” Hannibal says quietly.

Will just nods, his shoulders heaving with sobs. Hannibal puts a gentle hand on his back and he flinches.

“Don’t.”

Will climbs to his feet and walks away.

They return under the cover of night and cut her down. Will cradles her tenderly as fresh tears spill out.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. Her doe eyes stare blankly at nothing.

They bury her in silence. Hannibal bends and kisses the dirt, then begins to cry. Will gingerly puts a hand on his head.

The sound of rattling bones echoes behind them and Will bristles.

“Oh, you are _stupid_ ,” Mason says with glee.

Hannibal is on his feet instantly, teeth bared as he lunges with an inhuman cry. Will feels something pierce his neck. The world turns on its head, then everything blurs and goes dark.

-x-

He wakes underground, shackled. Hannibal hangs in a cell across from him, blood oozing from a deep cut on his face.

“Will,” he chokes out.

Will growls and rattles at his chains.

“We can’t transform,” Hannibal says bitterly, “he’s Bound us.”

“Clever,” says a voice from the shadows. “I like hurting the clever ones.”

Mason’s face appears, twisted into an ugly smile. His sister is at his side, stoic and pale. Will howls at them in rage.

“You killed my daughter!”

Mason turns to his sister. “Actually, Margot did. I was ready to play but sister dear spoiled all my fun.”

He turns violently on her and pinches her face savagely between thumb and forefinger.

“You took my toy away.” He spits into her face. “Never do that again.”

Margot wipes the spittle away without blinking.

Mason shoves Margot aside and claps his hands together. “Well then, little lovers. Which of you Monster Husbands wants to die first?”

“I do.” They both say it at once. Their eyes meet.

“Kill me and spare him,” Hannibal says.

Mason makes a grotesque cooing sound.

“Oh how sweet,” he drawls. “Just for that, I might let Mr. Graham keep one of the pieces.” He reaches through the bars and slaps Hannibal’s face. “Not one of the good ones, though. Those are mine.”

“Don’t you fucking touch him!” Will yells.

Mason doesn’t look at him, just produces a key from his pocket and unlocks Hannibal’s cell.

“The Wolf doesn’t interest me,” he says conversationally, “I’ve seen inside plenty of those. But _you_ …” He runs his fingers through the blood on Hannibal’s face then sucks them into his mouth with a moan.

“You _fascinate_ me.”

“You can have me,” Hannibal mutters thickly, “let the wolf go.”

Mason snaps his fingers and Margot looks up.

“Margot, dear, unchain Lover Boy would you please?”

Margot obeys silently. She uncuffs Will, oddly careful with the chafed skin around his wrists.

“Bring him in,” Mason orders.

She ushers Will into the adjoining cell. Mason grins toothily.

“Now kiss goodbye.”

Will recoils. “ _What_?”

“You heard me. Kiss your husband goodbye.”

Will shakes his head. “I’m not doing that in front of you.”

In a flash, Mason pulls a knife from his belt and drives it into Hannibal’s stomach. Hannibal grunts but grits his teeth against crying out.

“I asked nicely,” Mason says, “don’t make me ask again.”

He grabs Will roughly by the back of the head and shoves him forward. Hannibal’s eyes are awash with pain.

“Kiss me.” Hannibal’s words are little more than breath, but Will hears them.

“Always,” Will replies.

The kiss is soft and tastes of copper. They’ve shared so many blood-soaked kisses that this one, surely, should be no different, but instead it's bitter and stings of salt. It’s too gentle, too delicate, and over too quick as Mason pulls them apart again.

“Enough,” Mason snarls, “take him away.”

Margot nods and tugs Will by the elbow, out of the cell and toward a darkened tunnel that's poorly lit by a dying flame. Will looks over his shoulder and meets Hannibal’s gaze one last time.

_I love you_

He hears the words in his head just as he had the first time Hannibal spoke to him. He cries out and turns violently from Margot’s grip.

“NO!” Will roars. “I won’t let you do this!”

Mason sputters in surprise. “Idiot boy, you don’t _let_ me do anything. I’m going to kill him, slowly, and if you don’t shut your mouth I’ll make you watch.”

Margot pulls him back against her and hisses into his ear. “Graham, stop. Trust me, you don’t want to watch.”

Will goes limp against her, too battered and bruised to let any more fight out. Hannibal hangs his head in resignation as Will allows himself be turned back toward the tunnels.

“Oh and Margot?” Mason calls after her, “ _kill the wolf_.”

Hannibal’s deafening scream echoes impotently as Margot drags him away.

She leads him through the tunnels and does not speak. The slow drip-drip that echoes around them is the only sound for what seems like miles.

“I killed your daughter,” Margot says eventually.

Ice runs through Will’s veins. “What?”

“He had her bound like a pig. He was going to cut her into pieces, so I slit her throat before she could feel any pain.”

Bile rises in his stomach and he lurches to the side to retch. He feels Margot standing over him, the heat of her palm hovering hesitant over his shoulder before it recedes.

“She was just a girl,” Margot says, “she deserved mercy.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Margot doesn’t reply, only pulls him back to his feet and keeps walking. A breeze brushes across Will’s face and he frowns.

“Where are w--”

Margot rips the blindfold from him and Will blinks his eyes open, surprised to find himself outside, under a pale waxing moon. The woods are silent, the night air brisk and cold. Margot sighs heavily beside him.

“The Bind should be released by now,” she says, “go.”

Will gapes at her in shock. “What about you? Won’t Mason--”

“Let him kill me if he must, but I won’t be his slave any longer.”

She puts her hands on Will’s shoulders and looks solemnly into his eyes.

“I’m sorry for your daughter. Now please, _go_!”

Then she turns on her heel and runs.

Will raises his eyes to the night sky and lets his fangs descend. His spine twists and snaps as he lowers himself onto all fours and growls.

The wolf bounds into the forest, its heart splitting open with every step.

-x-

Will searches. He returns to each home they had shared, only to find them empty. He retraces every step they’d taken over the past decade and is met with nothing but frustration at every turn.

After two weeks, the body of Mason Verger – what’s left of it – is found in Firenze Town Square. His sightless eyes are barely visible in his mangled face, half-chewed off and flayed open. His entrails lay spilled out onto the ground, every organ accounted for and nothing taken. The message is clear: _I would never eat such filth_.

Will does not get there in time to see it. The pieces have been collected and Hannibal’s scent has gone cold. It’s an empty victory, knowing Mason is gone. There is no joy in it. He moves on.

Will searches. He spends more nights transformed than not, howling his sorrow into the open sky. Sometimes he dreams of Hannibal’s face, of the Wendigo watching over him with deep garnet eyes. Sometimes the Ravenstag comes, its voice echoing sweetly in his head.

 _Find me_ , it says, _do not give up, my darling_.

Time presses on. He travels to Madame DuMaurier’s door once. Her shadow hovers at the library window. She does not let him in.

The Ravenstag continues to visit him in his dreams, with visions of sweat-soaked nights and rumpled sheets, the tang of sex heavy in the air.

 _Kiss me_ , Hannibal says.

 _Always_ , Will replies.

He wakes soaked to his skin with tears and more besides.

“I will find you,” he pledges every morning.

“I won’t give up,” he swears every night.

Will searches.

He keeps hunting Monsters, because it’s the only thing he knows how to do. He takes no pleasure in his kills anymore, simply collects his fee and moves on. Every time he takes a life without Hannibal he feels nothing but shame.

Then the telegram from Captain Jack Crawford comes.

CANNIBAL DEMON CAPTURED  
REQUESTING THE SERVICES OF WILL GRAHAM MONSTER HUNTER

Will reads the telegram twice with hope in his throat. His body vibrates with joy as he dictates the reply.

WILL GRAHAM IS ON HIS WAY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now go back and read Where Are the Storms I Was Promised and everything will be okay. Kind of.
> 
> I'm sorry about Abigail, truly I am. I tried to keep her death as offscreen as possible to spare us all.
> 
> ETA: Okay mayyybe I'll write one final smutty epilogue, post 'Where Are the Storms' feat. reunion sex & possible Wendigo porn... maybe...?


End file.
